


Determining

by Vee



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-27
Updated: 2009-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-21 13:36:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vee/pseuds/Vee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little slightly-shippy but mostly friendship fic from McCoy's point of view. It must be hard being Kirk's best friend, guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Determining

You have determined that you hate Jim Kirk and his pretty girlfriend. She's been out to the bars with you for three nights now, and it's not that you don't like girlfriends to join the fun, but something innately annoys you about clingy, monosyllabic, dimwitted daddy's girls, and Sheila fits the bill. He won't even stay with her for more than two weeks. You want to tell her this so badly, as she downs her second Prakal II and starts comparing Exobiology to Zoology, as if she has a damned leg to stand on.   
  
You promised Jim you would be nice, so you just root your eyes firmly to the edge of your lids and try not to let the annoyance reflect too much in your tone.   
  
"Hey, you know what would be fun? If we all three got assigned to  _the same starship_!" She's sandwiched herself between you and Jim, and has her skinny arms around both of you. Jim's been through a muster of girls in the time you've known him, and you can't remember one quite this skinny. She's breathing her alcohol all over you.   
  
"Yeah, you might have to tag and wrangle a whole pack of wild targs for science, and I'd like to be there for that." You mutter. You hear Jim cover his snort of laughter with a swig from his beer.   
  
"Targs are nice!" She says, in a 'famous last words' sort of voice. She knows they're not, she's just trying to seem like the princessy zoologist who is friend to all the animals.   
  
"Wild ones? Really? That's Targ milk in your drink, you know. Tastes like swill on its on."   
  
"Last time I checked, you don't even like milk in the first place." Jim says, oddly smooth about it. You roll your eyes yet again.   
  
"I don't like vicious wild pig-dogs, either, what's your point?"   
  
Sheila giggles. You manage to stare at Jim, challenging him for an answer. He doesn't give one; just locks on your gaze and plays right into it. Sheila's in fast motion in the space between, going on about some family in her childhood with a targ who wasn't all that bad, because it only bit her once. You're sort of grateful for her company in that moment, and only in that moment, because it gives you something to focus on peripherally, so your ears don't burn and you don’t snap at Jim and have to confront the question of what the Hell that smirk on his face is all about. Shouldn't he be paying attention to his girlfriend? If his track record is any indication, he doesn't have much time left. And then it pops out:   
  
"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to make me jealous," you grouse.  
  
"What do you mean, Bones?" He stays leveled on your eyes as he pulls her over and kisses her, silences her, moves her away from your personal space to find a dart board.   
  
Yeah, what do you mean?  
  
~*~  
  
You have determined that you like Jim Kirk and his shiny new bike. It took him a while, but he finally inherited it from an old guy in town who said he'd let Jim have it when he was good and ready to stop riding the thing. At the man's age, it was a miracle he'd lasted as long as he did. He looks positively post-coital after his first jaunt around the city, stretched out on the longer-than-average body with his just-about-average hair blown around by the wind. The Jim Kirk patented self-satisfied smile is on his face, but he looks strangely sated. This is the only woman in his life, now.   
  
Feigning an interest in the mechanics of the thing, you ask the perfunctory questions and let him gush on and on about things like the engine and the alloy frame and the suspension. You're just in it for the amusement of watching him get so passionate about something so simple. It makes sense, though. If Jim Kirk could fly and operate a whole starship on his own, he would. This is the next best thing until technology permits.   
  
You whisk your hand along the still-warm, chipped paint on the gas tank – which was just an old name held over, he'd explained earlier when trying to teach you all about motorcycles, their evolution, their construction. He'd never known such an interest before getting his hands on this bike. "It's like being around a debutante."  
  
"Hm? What is?"   
  
"You. With this bike. You're like some damned southern belle, you're not going to let me ride it but you sure pull me along, thinking that my chances might increase if I pay you enough attention."  
  
"I'm no tease," he waves the comment off calmly, as if the very suggestion isn't even worth taking offense at, "hop on if you're not too scared."   
  
You are, sort of. He looks at the helmet in his hands, back at you, and finally shrugs and tosses it. You're giving him one hell of a look, one that says, "Are you crazy, man?"   
  
"Hardly." That's a lie, you've always known it.  
  
"I've heard from enough people that you drive like a maniac, now you have to promise me that you won't get me killed."   
  
"You're the one who made an off-color joke about it, now I believe the implication was that you want to take a spin on my bike."   
  
Well, not entirely. Wait. Jesus, stop thinking about anything at all. Think of dying on some antique rust bucket, think of the atrocious noise these things make, think of the fact that Jim Kirk likes to risk his life and you're not very fond of the idea—  
  
You hate every minute of it, all the way downtown where you'll be spending your evening together anyway. "That was anti-fun. I think I'll find some other way back to the dorm." The helmet was uncomfortable, the seat was even more uncomfortable, and the only exhilarating feeling you took from it was a nauseous lurch in your stomach when Jim wobbled on a turn.   
  
"Awww, come on!" He follows you around the curve of the sidewalk and slaps you on the back, grabbing you by the shoulder, "it couldn't have been all bad. You got to hold me tighter than any debutante would for over eight miles."   
  
Okay, so maybe that part wasn't so bad after all. You're still going to find some other way back to the dorm.   
  
~*~  
  
You have determined that you love Jim Kirk when he's drunk. You're a couple of weeks away from graduation and the two of you are simultaneously trying to curtail any anxiety over parting ways and denying that there won't be any to begin with.   
  
Jim is theorizing. It's a beautiful thing, how much more coherent and complete his thoughts seem after he's half lit. At the beginning of your academy days you considered him to be about as deep as a birdbath, but he seems to exist to prove everyone wrong.  
  
"No, no, no, listen. You say that we'll just never see each other again, but that's not true! Man! It's…it's all in how you look at it, cause you're an optimist and I'm a – wait I got that backwards – you're a pessimist and I'm an optimist –"  
  
"I'm a  _realist_."   
  
"Nnn-shhshhshh. Listen to my idea. My idea is that we  _divide and conquer_. See, you can like do your thing over on whatever ship you're on, and I'll get my own command, and then when I have enough power and influence I can be like 'hey, what about this guy? This guy deserves like a thousand promotions." Because I think that you're going to be that guy that everyone can trust. Me, I'm just going to piss people off. I mean they'll know I'm good and all that, but I'm going to piss people off. 'S fair. You," he points, finger right in your chest, "you've got stability about you. You surround yourself with unstable people so you can try to fix them, so maybe if we divide and conquer then someday you can come back and save me. See what I mean, there?"   
  
What did he just do? You see what he means all too well, and it's nothing he's ever touched on before. You know about your attraction to destructive people, you've dealt with it your entire life, which is not so long but still markedly longer than Jim Kirk's. How did he go these years without ever mentioning that he'd noticed it? Or did he not, until now, in a drunken state of vainglory, realize his own perception of your qualities and shortcomings?  
  
"I'd still rather be around, so I can look after you." You've been made uncomfortable, but not so much that you don’t appreciate his insight.   
  
Jim laughs and leans into your shoulder. "You are such a great guy, you know. I mean, you're really there for me, and I know I can be a pain in the ass most of the time, but you…you really put your neck out, and I'm really thankful for that."  
  
The thoughtful high note he hits with that last statement is so classically drunken that you'd cut him off again if he hadn't been denied by the bartender twice times in the last thirty minutes. But there's something pure and accessible about Jim when he lays it all out, and though you're nowhere near as drunk as he is you're buzzed enough to be touched. The bartenders put strict limits on cadets at this bar during terms, and that limit is nowhere near enough to rattle you. More than enough for Jim, though, who's as close as you've ever seen him to spouting poetic insights.   
  
"Well, that's just the way I am."   
  
"Hey, Bones?" You're right here, what does he want, an 'OPEN' sign?  
  
"Mmm."  
  
"I don't really have anyone else who'd want to take care of me, so that's all up to you, okay?"   
  
Something about the impact of the sudden responsibility triggers a fitful response in you, but you calm it and nod at your bottle. He's still hanging onto your arm. "Yeah, I'll do what I can, Jim."   
  
Jim Kirk has determined that you will have an opinion of him no matter what, and the manipulative bastard sort of loves you for it.


End file.
